


The Winter of Discontent

by SparklinBurgndy



Series: Cabochons to Roses [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, F/M, Fantasy Racism, Gen, Loud Sex, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Rough Sex, Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-06-22 07:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15576792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklinBurgndy/pseuds/SparklinBurgndy
Summary: Sequel to Green Ginger Wine.The remainder of the the winter in the Shire is not all it's cracked up to be.  Hobbits are so racist they're racist against their own race.





	1. Chapter 1

Arathorn and Argonui had made it past Michel Delving and were passing through the White Downs. Once past those, they would be out on the Great East Road and officially out of the Shire. They were nearly out of the White Downs when a wild cry caught their attention. It was a raw, primal wail, not of physical pain, but pure anguish. Arathorn turned his horse abruptly. There was a hobbit woman struggling through the snow after the two Rangers. She was an older woman, her hair gone nearly as white as the snow and she was frantically waving a blue shawl over her head to attract their attention. Arathorn urged his mount back to her side.

“Little mistress, do you need aid?”

The woman was crying. She gestured to her ear, shook her head and made a few gestures with her hands.

“I think she’s deaf,” Arathorn said as his son dropped off of his own horse into the knee deep snow.

“Maybe she knows hwerme,” Argonui said, offering a few signs.

The woman watched these gestures intently, but shook her head. Whatever handspeech she knew, it wasn’t the one used by elves. She fished a small sheaf of parchment and a pencil out of her apron and wrote:

‘I need to get to Hobbiton! Please help me!’

“It’s nearly a four hour ride to Hobbiton,” Argonui said.

“That’s why she needs help, lad; she’d never make it on foot in this weather at her age.”

Arathorn gently took her pencil and parchment and wrote that they were happy to help, gave their names and then asked for hers.

‘Lily Heathertoes,’ she wrote. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Don’t tell me she’s already given up on cooking lunch for you?”

Dwalin paused, looking over his shoulder at Thorin. Then he looked back to the cleared off worktable where an impressive stack of wooden boxes held not just one but two meals that his hobbit bride deemed appropriate for a hardworking male of his size. Meaning he probably could have fed a garrison with little trouble.

“What the hell are you on about?”

“She just sent the ingredients and you’re having to cook it yourself!” Thorin said, gesturing to the clay pot in Dwalin’s hands.

“It’s already full of soup, you daft git; Blackberry puts it in a clay pot so I can heat it on the forge and have a hot meal.”

So saying, the big dwarf carefully set the pot among the coals and turned back to his wooden boxes. Thorin chewed on his meat pie and peered curiously into the lacquered boxes. He had thought he was familiar with hobbit cuisine – thick, hearty, stick-to-your-ribs fare that left you unable to move for an hour or so after eating it.

Honestly, where did they even get the energy to farm?

But Dwalin’s boxes weren’t filled with sandwiches and meat pies. Aside from the soup, there was breaded and grilled pork, and . . . that was really all Thorin could identify. Who sent their husband’s lunch in boxes, anyway? The wicker baskets Bilba and Blackberry packed their husbands’ lunches in were identical, but where Bilba put her dishes in stoneware pots or wrapped them in tea towels, Blackberry had little black lacquered boxes – the clay pot of soup not withstanding. But these polished boxes/dishes stacked together in a neat tower, the seats of the bowls clicking into grooves in the lids to lock them together.

“Are those pancakes?”

“Bacon and onion hotcakes,” Dwalin answered, taking a bite of one and turning it towards Thorin so he could see the filling.

“What are these?”

“Pork steamed buns.”

“I’ve never heard of steaming bread before.”

Dwalin leaned up and filched through his boxes until he produced small squares of bread with dried fruit embedded in it.

“My dessert; steamed bread with candied fruit.”

Thorin was still blinking at the steamed buns, so Dwalin held the dish out invitingly. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have more. It was like biting into a cloud of the softest, whitest bread imaginable, only to run smack into roasted pork that was still a bit warm in the center. Thorin made a vague noise of delight. Dwalin smirked, pouring a dark liquid from a bottle into a shallow dish.

“Good, eh?”

Thorin was still chewing, but he noted that the box going next to the sauce dish contained deep fried vegetables. Vegetables. Dwalin was eating vegetables. Dwalin. Son of Fundin. Dwalin ignored his king’s baffled expression and took a ring of deep fried onion from the box, dipping it in the dark sauce and popping it in his mouth. It was still fresh enough to crunch.

“Soup’s probably hot,” he said, standing and going back over to the forge. 

Thorin waited until his back was turned, stole what looked like a slice of cucumber, dunked it in the sauce and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. How could you fry vegetables and have them still be crisp?! That sauce was rather amazing, too.

“If you ate my sweet potatoes, I’m busting your lip, Durin,” Dwalin promised.

“Cucumber,” Thorin assured him.

“Oh, that’s all right, then.”

“What sort of soup is it?” The King Under the Mountain asked, eyeing the steaming pot.

Dwalin took the lid off.

“Looks like short rib soup.” 

Thorin made a appreciative noise in the back of his throat. Then he frowned.

“I’ve lived in Hobbiton for a decade and I’ve never heard of these dishes.”

“This is Stoorish food.”

“Stoorish?”

“Blackberry’s dad was a Stoor. I guess it’s like being a Longbeard vs. a Firebeard or some such. Anyway, he taught her to cook. Says he had a beard, too. I thought hobbits couldn’t grow beards.”

“I’ve heard Stoors can,” Thorin answered. “Only the men, though.”

Dwalin had more questions, but they were left ignored as Blackberry herself breezed through the door, a half-empty shopping basket on her arm. 

“There’s a load of goods up from Gladden Fields!” she blurted. “And there’s a lad with the others who is _one quarter dwarf!_ ”

Lunch was forgotten. Dwalin rushed out behind his bride, Thorin close behind them. They met Oin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur and Nori at the market. Unloading wagons of goods were – well. If Dwalin hadn’t been warned ahead of time they were hobbits, he might have been tricked into thinking they were dwarves.

They were taller than the local hobbits – Harfoots – and much bulkier. Harfoot hobbits tended to carry most of their weight around their middle. Stoors carried theirs through their shoulders. Blackberry said they were river folk, living off of fish and crops that did well in a wet climate – rice, soya, things like that. These lads certainly seemed like they did a lot of rowing. They wore boots, quite sensibly, and even wore beards. In fact, if Dwalin hadn’t noticed the pointed ears peaking through the curls, he would have thought them lightly built dwarves.

“They’re making grilled tofu!” Blackberry yelped, pointing to a small grill just beginning to smoke. “I want some!” 

Bombur followed her, full of questions and likely hunger.

“What is tofu?”

“It’s a sort of paste made from soya – you mash it up and let it ferment, like cheese, right?”

The vendor nodded, amused by the audience.

“What does it taste like?”

“Nothing!” Blackberry announced. 

Confusion writhed across Bombur’s face.

“Why is that –“

“It has the consistency of mushroom, so it will fill you just as well, but it tastes of whatever you cook it in. Cook it in chicken broth, it will taste of chicken. Cook it in fatback, it will taste of pork. Cook it with beef scraps, it will taste of beef.”

Bombur was so impressed his tonsure shifted on his scalp. A few of the other dwarrow exchanged looks. Though it sounded like elf food on paper, no who had lived through the Wandering Times would turn up their noses at such a miraculous-sounding food.

“Oh, they’re setting up a whole row!” Blackberry exclaimed. 

Sure enough, an entire row of grills and stands were being set up. Stoors chopped and grilled and skewered meats and vegetables, slathering them with strange sauces.

“Are you with me, Master Bombur?” she asked in sudden grim resolve.

“To the end, My Lady!” the rotund dwarf announced, saluting her.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The two Rangers galloped into the head Lawkeeper station yard and put down the deaf hobbit they had picked up. Lily Heathertoes staggered towards the door, gesturing at the two Men. In hindsight, it was likely the sign for ‘thank you’. She stumbled inside. Commander Bilberry stared at her as she ran to the nearest piece of paper and pencil – which happened to be the parole book.

‘I need to see the Thain immediately!’ she wrote. ‘My husband is being illegally held!’

“By whom?!” Commander Bilberry asked, looking over her shoulder.

When Lilly gestured, he wrote his question down.

‘By the Lawkeepers in Michel Delving! They charged him, but they refuse to send him for trial! I haven’t the strength to chop enough wood to last the winter! I’ll die without him!’

“Bellwether, where do you think the Thain is this time of day?!”

“Probably still in his office, Commander,” Erling said. “He might be having tea, but—“

“I think we can interrupt his digestion time for this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a short chapter, but it was either going to be short or miles long. I opted to post quicker with a shorter chapter. 
> 
> So we're going to get into the difference between Bilba and Blackberry ( genetically speaking) since only one person found the bread crumbs in the courthouse scene. Originally I was going to make the Stoors very Irish to the Harfoots very English. However (I am not a Tolkien scholar by any means) when perusing maps looking for the river Anduin I discovered it was not another name for Brandywine like I had thought, but on the other side of the Misty Mountains and damn near to Erebor. So I felt safe making them a little more foreign than that. I love Japanese food and I love making it and originally that was the only reason to throw it in, but now I imagine Stoor culture like Ireland and Japan got drunk and started fucking, but got interrupted and had to get dressed quickly in the dark. 
> 
> It's a blend is what I'm saying. 
> 
> As for Lily, I am in the process of losing my hearing. I don't know if I'll end up completely deaf or not, but I'm studying signing and preparing for the worst. Lily is a blend of several very cool people I have met so far and she is the antithesis and the example of several unpleasant stereotypes/ableist beliefs I have slammed into already.
> 
> Am I just using my characters to work things out in my personal life? Yes, yes I am. I seem to write better that way than when I try to concentrate on plot structures, character arcs, and development.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things and stuff happen! We find out why Lily's husband is locked up! And what a naming ceremony is. And there are dwarrow attempting to use chopsticks.

Thierry Hornblower sighed, taking in his tea guests.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for pulling such humbug, Master Balin,” he announced.

“It was only intended to give a bit of fright, not throw the entire Shire into disorder,” Balin said apologetically.

“I’m sure Master Hornblower was clever enough to see through our little ruse, dear,” Dori said, patting Balin’s hand.

Thierry eyed the silver haired dwarf. Something about him just seemed a bit . . . off. The Thain couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Master Dori was charming, polite, well-groomed, and liked his tea. He would have made an excellent gentlehobbit if it weren’t for the fact that he was a dwarf. But still there was something.

Hornblower sighed. 

“I had a feeling you weren’t serious,” he lied. “But between that, and the unpleasantness with Proudfoot . . . the Shire is falling down around my head.”

“Please don’t be so hard on yourself, Master Hornblower,” Dori said. “These things do happen.”

“Even the best leader can’t prevent all unfortunate circumstances,” Balin added sadly.

Commander Bilberry thundered up to the front of the Thain’s office. He reined in his pony and jumped off himself before helping down an elderly hobbitess. Goodwill burst through the door.

“Sir! This is Mistress Lily Heathertoes. She’s come all the way from Michel Delving because her husband is being held illegally.”

“Oh my goodness, please, madam, sit down and tell us everything! Master Balin, Master Dori, if you would excuse me please. . .”

“We’ll need parchment and ink,” the commander said. “She’s deaf but she can write it out.”

“Um, Master Hornblower, she’s asking that one of us stay,” Balin said.

The Thain and Bilberry turned to look at Lily, who was gesturing frantically at Balin and Dori.

“My dear, where did you learn Iglishmek?” Dori asked, pairing gestures with his words.

Lily cupped one hand to her forehead, then clasped it in front of her.

“Your husband? Is your husband a dwarf?” Balin asked, gesturing as well.

Lily nodded.

“I didn’t know there was another hobbitess married to a dwarf,” the Thain announced. “I thought Bilba Baggins was the first.”

“Michel Delving is half-way to the Blue Mountains,” Commander Bilberry said. “It stands to reason there might be a few mixed marriages out that way. Especially ladies who . . . er . . . are not so marriageable.” 

Goodwill hid his mouth behind his hand and whispered the last sentence, even though there was no way Lily could hear it.

“First things first!” Dori declared, still signing. “Would the two of you like a cup of tea?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Udon!” Blackberry yelped in delight. “My da made the best udon!”

Udon appeared to be a dish of thick noodles in broth with slices of beef, green onion, and a white thing Blackberry had previously identified as fish sausage. The vendor handed her a bowl and two slender sticks. Blackberry tucked into the meal, somehow using the sticks to shovel noodles into her mouth.

“What are those?” Bofur asked, pointing at the sticks.

“These are hashi,” Blackberry reported. “And all I hear anymore is how dwarv – how dwarrow can make the most delicate things around, so you can learn to use them if you wanted to.”

“Can you use them?” Thorin asked Dwalin as he took a bowl himself.

“A bit. I’m not ‘noodle good’ yet.”

The udon vendor laughed uproariously. 

"'Noodle good'. Let's see, my lass; uses hashi, wearing sensible boots, and let's see those eyes . . ." The male hobbit reached over and cupped Blackberry's chin. "Definitely Stoorish eyes!"

The Stoor sucked in a sharp breath as Dwalin's massive hand clamped around his forearm.

"Take your hands off my wife," he growled.

"Married the biggest dwarf she could find: definitely a Stoorish lass!" One of the other vendors laughed. 

Bofur and Bombur exchanged a look. The way these hobbits made it sound, mixed marriages were common in Gladden Fields. The udon seller squiggled out of Dwalin's grasp, looking pale. 

"Oi! Are you Akeagol Brandywine's daughter?" Someone else yelled.

"I am!"

"Keeping well, then?"

"I'm fresh married and expecting!"

"What?!"

Blackberry turned to see Rosemary Heavyhearth staring at her in shock. The innkeeper’s wife had come to the market to see what unusual delicacies the Stoors had brought from Gladden Fields. 

"Expecting?! Bloody hell, you're wearing jumps . . . keep eating! You're far too thin for birthing!"

"Thank you! I only found out a few days ago."

"You had a blue wedding, you harlot! And you didn't even tell me!" Rosemary laughed.

While ‘blue weddings’ or weddings where the bride was pregnant, were actually fairly common among hobbits, it was more respectable to pretend they weren’t. This led to the myth that first faunts always came early.

"To be fair, nobody knew it was a blue wedding at the time!"

"It was very timely," Dwalin offered, wrapping his arm around Blackberry's waist from behind. Hashi be damned, he just slurped straight from the bowl. "I like how you make it better, pet."

"I didn't think -- never mind! You know what this calls for?!" Rosemary spluttered, starting to fidget in place.

"A party," every dwarf in earshot chorused.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

"First of all, what is your husband's name, dear?" the Thain asked. 

They had called for Mirri Elderflower, who could note as fast as people could speak. He was keeping track of the conversation.

'Nikk, son of Vrikk,' Lily fingerspelled carefully. Dori was translating.

"And what crime was he arrested for?" Thierry asked.

'Rape. Raping ME! Which he didn't do! I was all for it!'

Balin snickered as Dori's cheeks turned red. 

"Per - perhaps you'd better start at the beginning," the Thain said, trying not to snigger.

The story of the inciting incident was actually quite simple. Nikk, son of Vrikk, and his lovely bride had quaffed a few too many at the Harvest Festival at Michel Delving and when walking home to the White Downs, decided to nip into the woods for a quick tumble. Lily, being deaf as well as drunk, wasn’t quite so careful about her volume when expressing appreciation of her husband’s bedroom skills. The local Lawkeepers had followed the screaming and found the married couple enjoying a bit of rumpy-pumpy. But instead of a fine for public lewdness or other such slaps on the wrist as were normally the case, the Lawkeepers threw Nikk into the dock on a charge of rape and seemed content to let him rot there.

Balin and Thierry took the grandmotherly hobbitess’s sexual exploits in stride. Commander Bilberry was blushing at the gestures employed by the deaf woman. You didn’t even need to _know_ Iglishmek to know what they meant. Mirri and Dori were both crimson: Mirri because he had to hear such things, Dori because he had to say them out loud. 

“This sounds like a personal vendetta,” the Thain admitted. “If I locked up every couple that got caught with their knickers down after a big party, the Shire would be empty. And a charge that harsh would require a trial in Hobbiton.”

“They didn’t send him because they knew Mistress Heathertoes would deny the charges,” Bilberry said.

“Fancy a ride to Michel Delving, Commander?” Master Hornblower asked. 

“To return with Nikk, son of Vrikk?”

“And whoever happens to be charge of the Lawkeepers out that way.”

Commander Bilberry nodded to them, bowed to Lily, and headed out the door.

“He’ll likely not be back until the morrow,” Mirri offered. “What shall we do with Mistress Heathertoes in the meantime?”

“Mistress Heathertoes, what would you like to do until your husband comes tomorrow?”

‘I would like to stay with dwarrow,’ she signed. ‘I greatly miss having someone to talk to.’

“There we are! I’m sure you can put her up,” the Thain said.

A secretary poked his head in the doorway. 

“Master Hornblower, the Stoors from Gladden Fields have arrived.”

“Excellent! They’re a bit late this year; I was starting to worry. Would you gentlemen and lady care to join me for a stroll down to the markets? Stoors have remarkable street food.”

Lily had skipped three meals to get to Hobbiton, so she eagerly agreed. Balin and Dori hung back a moment. They may have thought they were out of earshot, but hobbits had sharp ears. Well, when said ears actually worked.

“Bag End’s rather full,” Dori murmured. “Where are we going to pack in another lady? Bilba and Ori are already sharing a bed.”

“If it comes to it, I imagine Dwalin and Blackberry can take them in. Bramble’s Edge has a spare room. Hopefully the kinship of a mixed marriage will encourage them to help.” There was a pause, as though Dori were giving him a look. Balin chuckled. “Don’t worry, luv; we’ll find somewhere to be alone.”

“It’s too cold to ‘nip into the woods for a quick tumble’,” Dori said with what was not quite a pout.

“It may only be a night or two,” Balin continued. “This Nikk may very well wish to take his wife home after all this business. Then we can go back to sneaking into Bramble’s Edge when Dwalin and Blackberry are at work.”

Thierry paused as he shrugged into his coat.

‘Find a place to be alone’? ‘Sneaking off together’? It almost sounded as if – oh. Oh. Oh! Bloody hell, that was what was off about Dori! He was a lady! The beard was a bit distracting, but lady dwarves had beards, didn’t they? Even Ori had sideburns and she was but a lass! But . . . Dori’s clothes weren’t – well, he - _she_ was traveling, wasn’t she? Dressing like a male was safer for ladies when travelling. Ori wore skirts, but again, Ori was just a lass! Once she was of age, she might start wearing trousers on trips as well.

And by the sound of things, Balin and Dori were having a bit of something on the side as well. Were they wed? Should he offer to wed them? 

Lily was staring at him expectantly.

Thierry tore his thoughts away from dwarvish intimacy and took his grandmother’s spare coat from the rack. He held it out for the deaf matron.

“YOU. CAN. WEAR. THIS. IF. YOU. WOULD. LIKE.”

Thierry didn’t know the Iglishmek sign for thank you. He also didn’t know how one could sign sarcastically. Lily taught him both before sliding into the coat.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“I didn’t think dwarves and hobbits could have children!”

“Neither did I or we might have taken some precautions,” Blackberry admitted. 

“What an odd thing to say.”

Both hobbitesses turned to look at the Stoorish lady arranging fabrics on a table.

“Gladden Fields took in a fair few dwarrow when the dragon came. It’s a fairly common thing to have dwarf blood there.”

Thorin, Dwalin, and Nori exchanged looks from where they stood outside the fabric seller’s stall.

“Where _is_ Gladden Fields exactly?” Nori asked the woman.

“It’s on the banks of the river Anduin, between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood,” she answered. “Here’s a lovely bit of silk for a naming ceremony dress, mistress.”

“It’s on the far side of – bloody hell, that’s nearly to Erebor!” Nori blurted. 

Dwalin looked sharply at Thorin, but the King Under the Mountain was staring off into space, an odd look on his face.

“When we retake the mountain, your wife will be near her kin,” he said in a near whisper. 

Now it was Dwalin and Nori’s turn to exchange a look. Retake the mountain? With a dragon in it? The gates were sealed even if the dragon were dead!

“Dwalin, look! Silk screened apples!” Blackberry held up a green cloth with red apples on golden boughs. “This will be perfect for the naming ceremony!”

“Light green, good for a spring ceremony,” the vendor said, nodding. “And apples for fertility!”

“The what?”

“Don’t dwarrow present new babies to the community?” Blackberry asked.

“It’s done a fortnight after the birth, barring any complications,” Rosemary said, nodding. “The Whistlestops are having theirs at the inn next week.”

“Madam, it isn’t uncommon for dwarflings to stay in the nursery until they’re twenty years old,” Thorin announced. 

“They _never_ leave the nursery?!” Rosemary blurted. 

“Yeah . . . well, hobbit faunts accompany their mothers everywhere after the naming ceremony. And that’s what we’re doing!” Blackberry stated, daring her husband to protest. 

“How do they thrive without sunlight or earth?!” Rosemary asked, shocked. 

“They aren’t bloody plants!” Nori protested. 

“ _We_ are children of the Green Lady and we need such things,” Blackberry said sharply.

“Brother! Oh, and Thorin!” Balin came down the alley. “Bit of a new development . . . it seems you two are not the only dwarrow married to hobbitesses in the Shire.”

The advisor turned to look back at Dori, Lily, and the Thain. Dori and Lily had finally stopped ‘chatting’ because they both had their hands full. Lily had an ear of roasted sweetcorn in one hand and a skewer of grilled chicken in the other. She took bites off of each of them in turn, her nose and chin glistening with butter and chicken grease. Dori had a bowl full of udon. He had given up trying to use the hashi properly. The fussy dwarf was drinking the broth from the bowl and using the hashi to shovel the noodles straight into his mouth. He finished the bowl and dropped it into the sink the food sellers left up and down the alleyway for used dishes.

Then he sighted the other dwarrow and patted Lily on the arm.

“These are the dwarrow I was telling you about!” he said, signing as he spoke. 

Lily was taking a bite of her corn, but made eye contact and nodded to show she was paying attention. Dori introduced everyone, then broke off mid-sign to gush over the green silk with apples Blackberry held. The Thain watched this and nodded to himself as though he had figured out something impressive.

“At any rate, Mistress Heathertoes finds herself at a loose end until her husband is fetched from Michel Delving,” Balin continued. “Bag End is getting a bit tight, but perhaps we might find her a bed at Bramble’s Edge?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“I’ll need a few volunteers for an overnight mission to Michel Delving. Some clothead has locked up a dwarf for the crime of marrying a deaf hobbitess that no one else wanted in the first place,” Commander Bilberry sighed. 

About five lads, including Lt Bellwether, put their hands up for the duty, leaving Cpt Hedgehopper in charge. He took a look round the station as the rest were packing up. His gaze fell on the parole book, now desecrated with the scribbles of a panicked hobbitess.

“I’m going to cut this page out, Commander,” he announced. “If it looks like there’s a page missing, that’s why.”

Cmdr Bilberry hesitated for a moment, then nodded his assent.

“Fine. Back here in an hour with supplies, lads.”

The Lawkeepers trooped out to gather warm clothes and food. Moro Hedgehopper found a razor blade in a desk drawer and delicately slit the offending page from the book.   
And somehow ended up with two pieces of paper.

One was the full page with Mistress Heathertoes’ desperate pleas on it. The other was a tiny sliver, straight on both edges, as if the previous page had been cut from the book. Moro turned to the previous full page and found it as expected: the last entry being Justilo Proudfoot’s the morning before his murder. It was dated and signed off by Moro himself. 

Why would there be an extra piece?

Moro held the piece of paper up flat. There was an impression on the first line. Nearly alone in the watch house, Hedgehopper went back to his desk and carefully rubbed over the impression with the flat side of a pencil.

Slowly, Justilo Proudfoot’s name came into view, dated and timed for 5:30 am on the morning of his murder. 

And signed off by Cmdr Goodwill Bilberry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, I actually had an unexpected move halfway across the country, from Virginia to Illinois. I got set up in a house that is actually a hobbit hole! Wood paneling all the way around and everything is set low so I can reach the top shelf in the cabinets without a stool and I am only five feet tall! 
> 
> It also has an impressive garden that's been neglected for years, so I'm indulging my inner hobbit and working to bring it back. The rose bush out front actually changed the color of it's bloom for finally having some attention. It was this pale, washed out pink with leaves like lattices from the bugs, but just some water and fertilizer and now the new blooms are a dark, hot pink. I planted a daylily, some lavender, a bleeding heart (my favorite flower!) and I have some lungwort and foxgloves coming.
> 
> Okay, the story! I hate to call it filler, since there are some plot developments hidden in what passes for normal in the Shire. I could have sworn I gave the Thain a first name earlier, but I went back and couldn't find it, so he has a new one now. If you find it, let me know. Anyway, the Thain leaps to a conclusion. It is not a very good conclusion.
> 
> As for the age, I have decided that dwarrow (and hobbit) ages are to human ages by multiples of four. So a twenty year old dwarf/hobbit/dwobbit child would be in the development stage of a five year old human child.
> 
> Lily's signing! 
> 
> I'm basing it off of ASL or American Sign Language. There are about three hundred different sign languages on earth and three major ones in the US: ASL, PSE (Pidgin Signed English), and SEE (Signing Exact English).
> 
> PSE and SEE are much more concerned with every single word having a corresponding sign (PSE leaves out things like indefinite articles and endings) but ASL is more concerned with every *idea* having a sign. Which means that it can get quite graphic. So when the signer is 'talking' about rude subjects, the signs are, well, pretty self explanatory. I've seen ASL speakers go off on a rant and for every instance of 'fuck', they use Martin Freeman's favorite finger. 
> 
> It's also interesting because certain English words that we only have one of have multiple signs depending on their meaning. English, for example, has one word for love, whether it be 'I love cookies!' or 'I love my dog!' or 'I love you forever and always!' That's three different signs in ASL.
> 
> I'll stop ranting about language now.
> 
> I've decided that if I had to pick an actress to play Blackberry it would be Zhang Ziyi ---> [ Human Blackberry](https://www.thefamouspeople.com/profiles/images/og-zhang-ziyi-8659.jpg)  
> (People who followed me from DA will be like: Wow, she really has a thing for Asians with blond hair. You are not wrong.)
> 
> Lily would be Dame Judi Dench [Human Lily ](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BOTI5NjQ4NDc5NF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTc5OTczNw@@._V1_UX214_CR0,0,214,317_AL_.jpg)
> 
> Taking suggestions for Bilba!


	3. Right and Proper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I'm sorry.
> 
> _________________________________________________________________________

The Lawkeepers from Hobbiton rode into Michel Delving to a flurry of activity. Hobbits were gathered around the Lawkeepers’ station, holding lanterns and the leashes of hunting hounds. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Captain! Did you come to join the search?”

The hobbit addressing him clearly didn’t recognize his rank, but Commander Bilberry ignored this.

“Who’s missing?”

“A deaf mute named Lily Heathertoes!”

“Lily Heathertoes is perfectly safe. She’s in Hobbiton, staying as a guest of the Thain.”

“They found her? Oi! They found her!”

The cry was taken up by the crowd. The Hobbiton Lawkeepers dismounted and led their ponies forward. They arrived at the hitching rail just as the local Captain came hustling out of door.

“They found her?! Is she still alive?!” He looked over the group from Hobbiton quickly. Seeing no sign of Lily, he took a longer look at the group. His eyes fell on Bilberry’s pips. “Commander!” the captain saluted.

“Commander Goodwill Bilberry,” he said, returning the salute. “This is Lt. Bellwether, Sgt. Sandheaver, and Cst.s Truance and Gardener. And you are?”

“Captain Darjon Heathertoes. You say you’ve found Lily? Is she alive?”

“’Heathertoes’? Is she a relation?” Lt. Bellwether asked. 

“My sister. I’m assuming the news is ill, if the Commander of the Shire has come all this way to deliver it.”

Bellwether and Bilberry exchanged a long look. A look that said ‘Sister?’ 

“You assume wrong,” Sgt. Sandheaver offered. “Mistress Heathertoes is in Hobbiton, a guest of the Thain.”

“Is – is she? That’s good. How did she get all the way to Hobbiton?” 

The constables exchanged a look now.

“You know,” Sgt Sandheaver began. “If I thought me sister was frozen to death and then found out she wasn’t, I’d be a bit more relieved.”

“First off,” Cmdr Bilberry cut in, “Do you have a dwarf by the name of Nikk, son of Vrikk in your cells?”

There was a long moment of hesitation. The crowd gathered only saw Cmdr Bilberry and Cpt Heathertoes stare at each other. In truth, Heathertoes was wondering if there was any chance he could claim otherwise. But he got the feeling there wasn’t. The Commander of the Shire would likely cotton on to any attempt to signal to his own hobbits to hide the dwarf. And the look in Cmdr Bilberry’s eyes confirmed this.

“ . . . yes. Farthest cell back.”

“Sandheaver, Truance, Gardener, go and fetch him. So tell me, Captain, what exactly is the dwarf’s crime?”

“Rape.”

“Of whom?”

“Lily Heathertoes.”

There was a confused murmur. Bellwether caught one clear ‘But that’s his wife’. Evidently the victim of the so-called crime hadn’t been made public.

“I believe they’re married,” Cmdr Bilberry said calmly. “A man can’t ravish his own wife. She agreed to give him the privilege when they wed.” 

“They aren’t properly married,” Cpt Heathertoes said sharply. “He took her across the Downs to the Grey Havens for an anvil wedding. I never gave consent!”

“Pretty sure you aren’t the one who has to do that,” Lt. Bellwether said. “Blessing, sure, but not consent.”

“Lily is a deaf mute! She can’t speak! If she can’t communicate—“

“She can read and write,” Lt. Bellwether offered. 

“And she knows that dwarvish handspeech,” Bilberry said, gesturing in a manner he imagined was similar. “I’ve sat through a distressingly graphic speech to know what Mistress Heathertoes likes and exactly how she likes it.”

“If a hobbit cannot communicate, then they are not capable of giving consent in legal matters!”

“She can read and write,” Lt. Bellwether repeated.

“She’s hardly mute, as well. I understand it was her vocal performance that got them into trouble in the first place.”

Darjon blushed hotly. He was saved from further protest by Nikk, son of Vrikk coming through the door. The Hobbiton Lawkeepers barely managed to stay close enough to keep up the illusion that they were escorting him.

“My Lily! Is my Lily all right?! I heard them organizing a search!” 

Nikk was a genial, round, dwarf with a full white beard of natural curls. He looked naked without a laughing grandchild on his knee. 

“The last I saw Mistress Heathertoes, she had food in both hands and a dozen dwarves around her, chatting amiably,” Cmdr. Bilberry assured him. 

Nikk sagged in relief.

“Lily can’t ‘chat’! She can’t speak!!” Darjon all but roared. 

“Listen, mate, do you know how loud it gets in mines?! Sometimes if you want to speak, signing is all you have!” Nikk snapped. “Not being able to hear doesn’t mean you can’t think!”

“You stole my sister, you fucking lawn ornament! She was satisfied to remain in my care until she met you!”

“You got to keep her money, Darjon!” Someone yelled from the crowd.

“That’s not the point!”

“What’s this?” Sandheaver asked with interest.

“Their father left a trust to care for Lily. In the unlikely event that she married, the trust was supposed to go to her husband, but Darjon all but kept Lily locked in the cellar –“

“I DID NOT LOCK MY SISTER IN THE CELLAR!”

“ – at any rate, he kept her to herself until she met Nikk and he taught her that signing stuff and after that it was a whirlwind romance.”

“Darjon refused to hand over the money but Lily moved out anyway.”

“It wasn’t about the money!”

“Lily is my One; I was honored to wed her without a penny to her name!”

Commander Bilberry waved his hand between the two. 

“Lads, break it up. We’re to bring the both of you to Hobbiton in the morning to explain yourself to the Thain.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“That’s Itogol Trapline. He’s a farthing; one quarter dwarf on his father’s side.” Lotus, the fabric seller said, pointing. 

Itogol did not look much different than the other Stoors, except for perhaps having a thicker beard than most. The lad, who looked fifteen minutes older than Fili, was tuning a guitar on a bit of board meant to act as a stage. Sitting beside him was a young dwarf holding a mandolin.

“And that’s Rist, son of Wist. He’s actually a harn. One quarter hobbit on his grandmother’s side.” 

Thorin turned to look at Lotus.

“This is a very common thing in the Stoor lands?”

“Well, y’know, when the dragon came, there were a lot of broken families fleeing the mountain. Dwarf men snapped up whatever hobbitesses they could to help care for children. And good Stoorish fishwives could provide for whole families if their new husbands had lost a leg or whathaveyou.”

“It didn’t frighten them?” Nori teased.

Lotus gave him a dark look.

“Life on the waters is harder than you think, carrot top.”

While the other dwarrow teased Nori about his new nickname, Itogol and Rist finished tuning their instruments. They picked up the same melody.

“ _One smoky day in a darkened scullery_  
Down by the river in a fishing town,  
Where bad things happen and the walls are drippin’  
And the ghosts are flittin’ through the cold hard ground  
A pot and kettle on the hob were settled,  
A-hissing their patter so bilious cruel.  
An awfy matter of clout and clatter  
And battlin’ wits in a hideous duel.”

Itogol started the song, his Stoorish accent almost indecipherable from Bofur’s Blue Mountain brogue. Rist joined him on the chorus.

“ _The lids are rattlin’, belchin’ steam!_  
Life ain’t nothing but a fever dream!  
‘You’re a lowly villain!’  
‘And you’re a terrible liar!’  
But we’re both here cookin’ on the same ol’ fire!  
Guts are bubbling, belching steam!  
Life ain’t nothing but a fever dream!  
‘You’re a chanty pot!’  
‘And you’re a shite for brains!’  
But we’re both here hangin’ on the same ol’ chains!

_‘I’ve roasted a wealth of exotic things,_  
All torn to ribbons at th’ hands of kings.  
Polished copper, how proudly shone,  
Stealing the fire a’ the blazing sun.’ 

_‘You’ve boil’d th’ blood from them old soup bones_  
I’ve boil’d th’ tea for them stately homes.  
I’d rattle like a drum each Hogmanay  
And scrubbed t’ th’ devil on th’ followin’ day.'"

The pair traded off singing, Itogol playing the 'pot' and Rist the 'kettle' only to join up for the chorus.

_"The lids are rattlin’, belchin’ steam!_  
Life ain’t nothing but a fever dream!  
‘You’re a lowly villain!’  
‘And you’re a terrible liar!’  
But we’re both here cookin’ on the same ol’ fire!  
Guts are bubbling, belching steam!  
Life ain’t nothing but a fever dream!  
‘You’re a chanty pot!’  
‘And you’re a shite for brains!’  
But we’re both here hangin’ on the same ol’ chains! 

_‘Oh kettle, your metal is a terrible hue!_  
Riddled wi’ holes, cannea hold your brew!  
Your lid’s all crooked an’ your sides bashed in  
It’ll no be longer til you see th’ bin.’ 

_‘Pot, you’re not so bright as me!_  
A hag’s old cauldron is all you’ll be  
You reek o’ gruel an’ you’re none too young  
Fit for to carry but th’ peels an’ dung!’ 

_The lids are rattlin’, belchin’ steam!_  
Life ain’t nothing but a fever dream!  
‘You’re a lowly villain!’  
‘And you’re a terrible liar!’  
But we’re both here cookin’ on the same ol’ fire!  
Guts are bubbling, belching steam!  
Life ain’t nothing but a fever dream!  
‘You’re an old piss bucket!’  
‘And you’re a dented can!’  
But we’re neither as black as that roastin’ pan! 

_Lids are rattlin' belchin' steam_  
Life ain't nothin but a fevered dream  
'You're a lowly villain' / 'But we're neither as black'  
'You're a terrible liar'  
'But we're both here cookin' on the same old fire' / 'But we're neither as black as that roasting pan.'  
Guts are bubbling, belching steam  
Life ain't nothing but a fever dream  
'You're a chanty pot' / 'But we're neither as black'  
'And you're a shite for brains'  
'But we're both here hangin' on the same old chains' / 'But we're neither as black as that roasting pan.' 

_The lids are rattlin’, belchin’ steam!_  
Life ain’t nothing but a fever dream!  
‘You’re a lowly villain!’  
‘And you’re a terrible liar!’  
But we’re both here cookin’ on the same ol’ fire!  
Guts are bubbling, belching steam!  
Life ain’t nothing but a fever dream!  
‘You’re a chanty pot!’  
‘And you’re a shite for brains!’  
But we’re both here hangin’ on the same ol’ chains!”

“Oh, I’m goin’ t’ have to remember that one!” Bofur stated in delight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain paths start to cross.

It felt odd, walking into town the next morning. Dwalin had begun to push Blackberry’s cart for her when they went into Hobbiton for work. He wondered if they should purchase a goat or donkey to pull it. It would be more difficult for her to walk that far as her pregnancy progressed and in the spring, when his child would come, they’d have to deal with the babe as well. Dwalin’s chest inflated at the very thought. 

But today the walk felt odd because not only was Blackberry walking beside him, but Lily Heathertoes as well. It almost felt as if Blackberry’s mother had come to stay with them. They had stayed up long into the night, cooking and chatting (Dwalin had to translate) and tending their hair. Lily even helped Blackberry lay down a brandy to celebrate her conception. A dwarrow home’s fortune was often gauged by how many females resided in it and Dwalin felt as though his luck had doubled. Dwarrow were perhaps the only race that wished for their mother-in-laws to come live with them.

“Dwalin, what are you thinking?” Blackberry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was only thinking of how much sweet wine I could pour down you to get a daughter,” he teased, putting the cart down to sign his answers. Both hobbitesses giggled at the declaration.

“You really don’t want a boy?” Blackberry asked. She had retained enough signs overnight to say ‘Boy, want?’

“Sweet Berry, all I truly want is a child born healthy and whole,” he admitted. “Dwarves stress wanting a daughter to bless our house, but I think you could give birth to a chicken and I would love it.”

Lily and Blackberry burst into hysterical laughter.

‘A chicken!?’ Lily signed.

“I’m not likely to birth a chicken,” Blackberry giggled. “But hobbits stress wanting a son born first to inherit their house. Do you want that? I don’t mind.”

“Dwarrow will let a woman inherit property without issue,” Dwalin said. “Again, healthy child is all I wish for.”

Blackberry beamed at him and cuddled his arm closely. The bald dwarf cast a look at Lily, who was looking a bit wistful at the affection.

“Are you missing your lad or wanting to adopt Blackberry?” he teased.

‘Ah . . . both?!’

“Ah – Berry, Lily wants to be your mam,” Dwalin reported.

Blackberry set her eyes on the older hobbitess for a long, long moment.

“Tell her she can’t have done a worse job than the last one. I agree.”

Hmm. That was certainly a statement. Lily seemed to agree when he relayed the message to her, but came around to hug Blackberry. Dwalin was about to question his bride on her turn of phrase, but Lily let out a wordless shriek of joy that raised the neck hair on everyone in earshot and set several dogs howling.

Nikk, son of Vrikk, had just dismounted a pony in the town square. At Lilly’s shriek of delight, he looked around and bolted towards her, arms outstretched. The Hobbiton constables looked on as he caught his wife up and held her close.

“I suppose we’d better go meet your new Da’,” Dwalin joked. 

Blackberry glanced at him sharply, then frowned when she realized that yes, if Lily was her new ‘mother’, her husband would be her new ‘father’.

“Hey,” Dwalin cupped his suddenly solemn bride’s chin in his hands. “What’s up with yeh, luv?”

“Not here,” Blackberry protested. “We can talk about it tonight.”

“All right, then.”

They didn’t have to trouble themselves walking over because Lily was dragging Nikk in their direction, happily signing away. The older dwarf had his arm latched around Lily’s waist as if he was afraid she would disappear. 

“I am Nikk, at your service,” he said, bowing. “Lily tells me she’s adopted you, lass, and we’re soon to be grandparents!”

“Blackberry Brandywine, at yours,” the hobbitess said, curtseying. “We’re a bit short in the grandparent department and could use help.”

“Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service. I’ve got a brother, but that’s about it.”

Nikk peered at the scarred warrior.

“’Ere, I know you. You’re Captain of the Guard at Ered Luin.”

Before Dwalin could do more than nod, Nikk continued.

“When are you going back? This is no place to raise a pebble.”

“We’re . . . staying here,” Dwalin answered, shooting a look at his wife. “Blackberry has a vineyard.”

‘They imprisoned Nikk for four months because he was a dwarf,’ Lily offered. ‘You can’t be thinking of raising a half-dwarf child here.’

After Dwalin translated for Blackberry, the tiny winemaker looked thoughtful. 

“Really?”

“Dori said no dwarf would dare raise a hand to me if they knew I was with child. It sounds like dwarrow treat their women a lot better than hobbits do.”

And he wouldn’t be stuck in this boring town where everyone hated him for his race! He’d actually get to swing his axes again! And ‘no one would raise a hand to her’? If Blackberry could produce children at the rate hobbits normally did, she’d be treated as a queen! As for her unhobbitish decision to marry a dwarf, well, wasn’t her own adopted da a dwarf? Nikk and Lily had lived in Michel Delving; they could just say they met there!

“Nikk! Come on, mate, Thain wants to see you!” Sgt Sandheaver called.

Nikk and Lily turned and began to walk back towards the Thain’s office. Dwalin looked over to see another group of Lawkeepers bringing a strange hobbitess into the dock. She was tall, with long black tumbling loose down her back. She was wearing a lot less clothing than the average hobbitess would, especially in winter. She was clutching a large, black leatherbound book to her chest. She looked over at Dwalin briefly. 

“Do you know her?” Blackberry asked.

“No,” he admitted. “But I think Bifur might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and very late, but I apologize. I had zero creativity for anything this winter. Now the sap is starting to rise and so is my inspiration!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made, as well as a few realizations.

“Oi! Bifur! What’s th’ name a’ that whore you visit?!”

Bifur didn’t bat an eye at the question, but Bilba nearly swallowed her tongue. She was helping Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur set up a toy stall in the market. Even Blackberry rocked back on her heels for a moment.

Bifur signed a few things, but Blackberry didn’t catch anything more than ‘hair’ and ‘tall’. 

“I think she’s in th’ dock,” Dwalin announced. “I saw th’ Lawkeepers bringing in a lass that matches th’ description.”

Bifur signed again.

“Oh, I know that one! You asked why!” Blackberry said triumphantly.

“Probably for . . . . _whoring_ ,” Bilba whispered. “And this is a toy stall; there are faunts about!”

“Whoring’s not illegal,” Dwalin scoffed. At Bilba’s look, he started. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Why?!” Bofur blurted.

“Because!”

“Next you’ll tell us a woman can only have one husband,” Bombur chortled. 

Both hobbitesses gave the round dwarf a startled look.

“Well, you can’t,” Bofur corrected, gesturing to Bilba. “But that’s what you get for marrying a king. You could, though.”

“If I had a second one trying to mount me morning, noon, and night, I wouldn’t have time to eat,” Blackberry said dismissively. 

Dwalin looked proud of himself and kissed her on top of the head.

“Faunts!” Bilba squealed, looking around for them. 

“Are dwarrow men allowed more than one wife?” Blackberry asked. 

“No,” Bombur said. “There aren’t enough dams around for that.”

“So if dams are in short supply, why do some still resort to whoring?”

“All hobbit whores are female?” Bofur asked in the same moment Dwalin spoke

“Whoring is an art form!” 

“Fascinating conversation! But you can’t have it here!” Bilba said firmly pushing Blackberry up the path. There were some faunts running towards the stall.

“The more I hear of it, the better Ered Luin sounds!” Blackberry laughed.

Bilba stopped pushing.

“You’re – you’re going to Ered Luin?” She said. “But – it wasn’t because of what I said, was it? I’m so sorry!”

“I thought you said you couldn’t take a hobbitess to Ered Luin,” Bofur protested, still within earshot.

“Nikk and Lily are going back, after what happened to him,” Dwalin answered. “And Lily’s taken such a shine to Blackberry they’re going to adopt her. Me showing up out of the blue with a hobbitess on my arm would arouse suspicion. A hobbitess whose ‘Mam’ married a dwarf and found one to marry herself is a different matter.”

“But . . . you’re a hobbit,” Bilba said in a small voice. “You belong in the Shire.”

If Blackberry were a cat, her ears would have flattened.

“No, Mistress _Baggins_ , I don’t. _You_ are the rich landowner directly descended from Hobbiton’s founders. I am just a simple craftswoman who has been treated as an outsider my entire life! And now I’m wed to a dwarf and expecting a half-dwarf child! It isn’t going to get any better! And what of my child?! I’m actually a hobbit! How will they be treated?!” 

“Ered Luin, then!” Dwalin declared. “We’ll go as soon as Nikk and Lily do; before you get too big to travel!”

Blackberry shot a glance at her husband as thought she’d forgotten he was there. 

“I could take cuttings,” she murmured thoughtfully. “It would be three years before we had grapes again. Another year for aging . . .”

“Berry, I’m Captain of the Guard over all of Ered Luin. I know winemaking is your craft, but you don’t have to worry about making a living, luv.”

Blackberry took in a deep breath. She looked over Dwalin and then glanced at the other dwarrow. She looked to Bilba, who was looking upset. The tiny winemaker cast a slow look around Hobbiton, culminating in a long look at the looming shadows of the Blue Mountains. 

“Yes,” she decided. “We’ll go to Ered Luin.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Echinacea Hedgehopper stepped into the Lawkeeper’s station with a basket on her arm. Her father, Moro Hedgehopper, was sitting dejectedly at his desk, staring at a small sliver of paper.

“What’s the matter, Papa?” she asked, setting the lunch basket on his desk.

“Nothing, my dear,” he sighed. “Just studying the Proudfoot case.”

Moro may have had his eyes on the sliver of paper, but he couldn’t have missed the flinch his youngest daughter gave.

“Why do you care?” She asked, looking away. “Proudfoot was a disgusting, awful creep!”

“Justilo Proudfoot?”

Echinacea turned to look at the one occupied cell. A tall, dark haired hobbitess looked back at her. Echinacea didn’t know the woman, or what she was under arrest for, but she thought the Lawkeepers ought to have allowed her to get dressed before they brought her in.

“Dicentra, don’t you speak to my little lass!” Moro snapped, leaping to his feet. “She doesn’t need to hear a word from your vile mouth!”

“Proudfoot’s dead then?” Dicentra continued.

“Yes,” Echinacea squeaked.

“Echinacea! Don’t speak to her!”

There was long silence for a moment. Dicentra’s dark eyes raked over the hobbit girl. Echinacea felt like all of her secrets were glass under such a stare. Then Dicentra’s lips curved into a smile.

“Good,” she purred. “He’ll never darken my doorstep again.”

“You had dealings with him?” Moro said sharply.

“He came to my smial four days past demanding succor.”

“And you . . . dealt with him?”

“Believe or not, Captain, even whores have standards.”

Echinacea felt her cheeks flush crimson. Now she knew why she’d never clapped eyes on this hobbitess before; her father was a well respected Lawkeeper of impressive rank in Hobbiton. A whore . . . well, she must have only chosen such work because she was starving!

“Luckily, some of my sweet dwarvish lads were about and they chucked him in the gutter where he belonged.”

Moro was silent. Justilo had made his way to the nearest whore and got tossed out on his ear. It was well known that Dicentra Heartleaf took dwarves as clients, living right on the edge of the Shire. The Lawkeepers mostly ignored her until the local hobbits complained enough. Lately the complaints leaned towards she was charging too much and blacklisted any lad who got rough. So Goodwill rubbed his face, sighed heavily, and decided since they were out at Michel Delving anyway, they might as well pick her up and ‘give her a few days’ rest.’

All that aside, four days past was the day before Proudfoots’ murder. Perhaps Dicentra’s dwarvish lads had . . . well, no, even if they had thrashed him hard enough to kill, they wouldn’t have bothered to drag him all the way back to Hobbiton just to jump the body. The Blue Mountains were closer and had plenty of gorges where the corpse would never be found. Plus Justilo had been alive the morning of his murder; he’d even signed in! Which again raised the question of why a page had been removed from the sign-in book. Cmmdr Bilberry had even signed it off, but said nothing and had constables out searching before the first bell . . . 

“Dicentra Heartleaf, at your service,” the tall hobbitess offered in what was not quite a purr.

“Oh! Um, Echinacea Hedgehopper, at yours!” the lass squeaked, bobbing a curtsy.

“Got a trade, lass?”

“I . . . I’m apprenticing at the bakery; just a few days a week.”

“That’s good. It’s good for a woman to have a trade.”

“Please stop talking to my daughter!” Moro snapped, finally wrenching himself out of his thoughts. 

“Bloody hell, Moro, you missed it at the Thain’s office! That Heathertoes woman all but shredded her brother with her nails!” Cmmdr Bilberry came through the door, chortling.

“Uncle Goodwill!” Echinacea gave the commander a hug, which he happily returned, looking more relaxed than he had in days.

“Ah, Dicentra . . . glad to have you back again.”

“I’m not speaking to you, Bilberry. Your timing is very unfortunate.”

“Oh, sorry we didn’t time it with your monthly break, dear.”

“I’m serious, Goodwill. I’m going to miss my favorite client locked up in here.”

“Oh yes? Let’s see the book.”

Echinacea watched as Dicentra passed a large, leather bound black book through the bars. She had known the commander since she was a tiny faunt. Goodwill was very particular about the company he kept. If you could be counted among his friends, it was a guarantee that your character was impeccable. Not respectable, exactly, but a good person. And here he was bantering with a whore. Goodwill paced back to his desk, flipping through the ledger. 

“Lot of dwarven names here,” he observed.

“Dwarves are respectful and they pay more.”

“’Lord Heen, son of Moreen?’ Nobility! You’re going places, duckie.”

“That’s hardly a thing to mock.”

“You’ve drawn a little heart next to his name!”

To Echinacea’s surprise, Dicentra looked embarrassed. Goodwill looked a tad surprised by this, but shrugged.

“All right, I shan’t continue. Any more for the black list?”

“There’s a few.”

“What’s the black list?” Echinacea asked.

“When lads are rough or violent, they’ll often try it on harlots before respectable women,” Goodwill answered, copying some names down. “It’s a good indicator.”

“That’s not the sort of thing I’d like my daughter to know about, Commander!” Moro shrilled. 

“Oh, please, luv; at her age I’m sure she’s no stranger to the beasts men can be.”

There was an edge to Dicentra’s words. Like she knew far more than she should. Echinacea blushed. Bilberry paused in his copying to exchange a look with the dark haired hobbitess.

“Speaking of which, the Shire has yet to reimburse me for the time I spent at the work farm.”

Bilberry sighed roughly.

“That’s why you don’t go to trial anymore, dear. You don’t do any harm. We just tuck you away for a week or two to keep the imbeciles happy.”

Both father and daughter Hedgehopper slowly frowned at the implication of such a statement. You didn’t get reimbursed on the work farm unless you were called up to ply a skilled trade. And Dicentra’s trade . . . .

“Ah . . . Commander?” Erling Bellwether stepped through the door, allowing a shaggy figure to follow him.

Bifur, knowing full well there was no one present who could speak Kudzul, signed as he spoke. He still received a lot of blank stares.

“Dicentra? You have a lot of dwarf clients, do you know . . . ?”

“Bifur!”

The dwarf turned towards the squeal and went to the hobbitess.

“Now don’t be upset, it’s not as bad as all that,” she said in a soothing tone. “Just a little misunderstanding.”

_The commander and I have an understanding,_ she signed. _Occasionally he has to bring me in as a show, but it doesn’t go to trial. I’ll be out in a week or so._

_There’s a small group heading back to Ered Luin around then,_ Bifur offered. _Two of them are hobbitesses who married dwarrow. If you wish I could join them and bring you back as well._

_There will be hobbits in Ered Luin? Married to dwarves?_

_Yes, if you . . . if you would wish . . ._

_If you see Lord Heen on the road, could you tell him I’m very sorry I missed him?_

There was a pause and Bifur’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

_Yes. I will pass on the message._

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a short chapter, but it was either going to be short or miles long. I opted to post quicker with a shorter chapter. 
> 
> So we're going to get into the difference between Bilba and Blackberry ( genetically speaking) since only one person found the bread crumbs in the courthouse scene. Originally I was going to make the Stoors very Irish to the Harfoots very English. However (I am not a Tolkien scholar by any means) when perusing maps looking for the river Anduin I discovered it was not another name for Brandywine like I had thought, but on the other side of the Misty Mountains and damn near to Erebor. So I felt safe making them a little more foreign than that. I love Japanese food and I love making it and originally that was the only reason to throw it in, but now I imagine Stoor culture like Ireland and Japan got drunk and started fucking, but got interrupted and had to get dressed quickly in the dark. 
> 
> It's a blend is what I'm saying. 
> 
> As for Lily, I am in the process of losing my hearing. I don't know if I'll end up completely deaf or not, but I'm studying signing and preparing for the worst. Lily is a blend of several very cool people I have met so far and she is the antithesis and the example of several unpleasant stereotypes/ableist beliefs I have slammed into already.
> 
> Am I just using my characters to work things out in my personal life? Yes, yes I am. I seem to write better that way than when I try to concentrate on plot structures, character arcs, and development.


End file.
